


The Tragedy

by she_is_strong_with_the_force



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Din Djarin - Freeform, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grief, Grogu - Freeform, Helmetless Din Djarin, Loss, Other, but nobody sees him, din cries ok, major spoilers for chapter 14: the tragedy, the mandalorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_is_strong_with_the_force/pseuds/she_is_strong_with_the_force
Summary: Din Djarin attempts to deal with the loss of his son.-----Din Djarin doesn't think about what he does next--it's almost like his brain has gone on autopilot, like someone has pressed a button and he is performing its programmed response. He reaches for his vambrance, taps on the controls to Grogu's pram. Mechanically, as he has done nearly every day since Arvala-7.It is then that he remembers that Grogu is gone.Oh. Right.His thoughts feel slow, like thick tar being sliding down the hull of a ship. He has to go through what he knows, one thing at a time.I am alive,he tells himself. A year ago, that would have been enough. The life of Din Djarin was the only life of consequence--he would bring you in warm, or he would bring you in cold.At the time, it had made no difference to him which.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	The Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> okay i apologize for this hot garbage but i needed to write out my feels bc this episode....it took me out. my take on why din's reaction seemed 'underwhelming' to some people was because he was in shock, since he had just lost his home and his kid. the scene where he picked up the ball out of the ashes, i....:(((

Din Djarin doesn't speak as he walks into the little room he'd purchased for the night. He makes not a sound as he shuts the door behind him, taking no interest in his cheaply-decorated surroundings. It was the best he had been able to get for the handful credits he kept crammed in a pocket of his utility belt; the rest of his tangible wealth was gone. 

Din Djarin doesn't think about what he does next--it's almost like his brain has gone on autopilot, like someone has pressed a button and he is performing its programmed response. He reaches for his vambrance, taps on the controls to Grogu's pram. Mechanically, as he has done nearly every day since Arvala-7.

It is then that he remembers that Grogu is gone.

_Oh. Right._

His thoughts feel slow, like thick tar being sliding down the hull of a ship. He has to go through what he knows, one thing at a time. 

_I am alive,_ he tells himself. A year ago, that would have been enough. The life of Din Djarin was the only life of consequence--he would bring you in warm, or he would bring you in cold. 

At the time, it had made no difference to him which. 

_The Crest is gone._

His ship, the first thing he'd purchased before joining the Guild--it had gotten him through more close shaves than he could count. His money was on that ship, his weapons and his carbonite freezer. His life had been on the Crest. It had been his home, and now it was gone, destroyed in a rush of red flame and laid to rest in a bed of dark ash. 

It was odd that, in the moment, he felt nothing at all. Only a feeling of emptiness in the pit of his stomach. 

_The kid is gone._

Din has already begun to shed his beskar when he is reminded, once again, of the loss. His hand stills around the piece of armour he'd sought to remove; how fitting that it was his shoulder pauldron, the one emblazoned with his clan signet, the mudhorn.

His movement stills as he considers the signet he never would have gotten if it hadn't been for that little green child saving his life on Arvala-7. 

A flash of something indescribably painful rips through the empty haze clouding Din's mind, enough to make his knees buckle, to make him gasp for breath.

After a moment spent collecting himself, Din decides to leave the armor piece where it is. 

He continues to rid himself of the rest of his beskar, until he is wearing only his dark underclothes, his helmet, his pauldron, and his utility belt. In that moment, Din feels stripped of more than just his armor; he feels stripped of a part of himself he knew he needed but didn't know _just how much...._ until he lost it.

Something is stinging his eyes, sharp and pricking at the backs of his eyelids. He feels dizzy; he needs to sit down, but he doesn't. Instead, he stumbles to the mirror he's just noticed hanging on the wall.

It's been over a cycle since he's really _looked_ at himself--Din has always found himself underwhelming, and what he sees in the reflected in the glass aligns with the sentiment perfectly. 

He realizes how... _small_ he looks, without the armor on his body. A small man stranded on a small planet, missing the smallest piece of himself.

Din barely registers the fact that there is an uncovered window to his right as he lifts his hands to the sides of his helmet. He is staying on the lowest level of the inn; anyone, at any time, could walk by and see the Mandalorian removing his helmet. 

Anyone could walk by and break his Creed. 

The thought never even occurs to him as he slips off the metal mask and stares into the eyes of a stranger. 

_Oh. That's what I look like._

Brown hair falls across his forehead in messy curls, and trickle of blood has crawled down from his hairline to his jaw--probably a result of being pushed back by Grogu's magic.

Despite the fact that he's worn this face for the past thirty six years, Din feels as though he's stepped into the skin of a completely different person. He doesn't remember there being that many lines on his forehead, nor does he remember having such dark circles hanging from beneath his eyes. 

Din reaches into one of the pockets of his utility belt, feeling around for something. For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, he thinks he's lost it--and then the tips of his fingers brush across the top of something smooth and round.

It's strange--he opens his mouth to murmurr his relief, but nothing comes out, not even as he brings up Grogu's ball to eye-level.

He's brushing his thumb across the ball's silvery surface, observing it, when he feels his lip tremble. The stinging in his eyes returns, something like bile rising up in his throat. The burn of it all feels...right. Din certainly thinks he deserves it. 

His hands are shaking, and he clenches the ball between his fingers to ensure that he doesn't drop it. It's all he has left of the kid, all he has left of Grogu, _his son--_

_"My son."_ Finally, he is able to speak. Din's voice is soft, and distorted with grief. He feels like putting his fist through the glass where the reflection of a broken man is staring back at him, daring him to do something. He feels like overturning every bit of furtinute in the room, maybe even putting a few holes in the walls with his spear. He feels like storming outside and _walking his way to Gideon_ if he has to. 

But Din Djarin knows he isn't strong enough for any of that. 

So, instead, he does the only thing he is able to: He sinks to the floor, and he cries.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :-)


End file.
